


And I'm Home

by 1HandedPirateWithADrinkingProb



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 09:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13737735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1HandedPirateWithADrinkingProb/pseuds/1HandedPirateWithADrinkingProb
Summary: "I believe that it's easier for you to let me go. You put your arms around me and I'm home." Emma Swan has never been good with feelings. When she inadvertently befriends Killian Jones, her emotions seem to go into a tailspin. Through a series of snapshots into their relationship through the years, Emma and Killian search for what it means to be home.





	And I'm Home

The first time Emma officially met him, Killian was sleeping (snoring, she might add) in Professor Highly’s College Algebra class.

She was honestly trying to pay attention. Really. Imaginary numbers fascinate her. But his rhythmic snoring directly to her left was grating on her very thin patience. 

“Psst. Hey! You!” She whispered, slightly shaking his arm. He didn’t respond to her. She shook his arm a bit more vigorously.

“Seriously?” She rolled her eyes, hoping the professor at the lectern wouldn’t notice the disruption. She wasn't trying to get anyone in trouble. She just wanted him to shut the hell up and stop snoring. She supposed there was an added benefit of keeping Professor Highly from going on one of her now notorious rampages over slumbering students, but Emma was more concerned with the little whistle that sounded at the end of every exhalation. She considered leaving him alone and letting him get caught. She had done her part in shaking him after all. 

Still, she reasoned, no one deserved Professor Highly’s infamous wrath. Giving a glance in either direction for any unwanted audience, she kicked him (maybe harder than she needed to).  
“Agh! What the bloody fuck?” he yelled, shooting up in his seat. Hmm. She’d never noticed the accent. 

The eyes of everyone in the room turned to him, including the uppity professor’s. His cheeks colored in a rosy hue and the tips of his ears turned bright. “I apologize for my interruption,” he said in a small British affect.

“No, no, Mr. Jones, by all means continue. You, very colorfully, interrupted my lecture. Has something about polynomials offended you?” the professor asked, her voice shrill and unkind. Killian Jones, a name she only knew from roll call (in which he would shyly put his hand up to signify his presence, before sliding further into his seat). Judging by the way his ears turned bright red as the whole class turned to stare at him, she imagined that if he could become one with his chair, he would. This was so unnecessary. Emma felt that warm sensation just under her skin, the rage beginning to swim through her veins as she watched the professor continue her unjust tirade against Killian. 

“No, Professor.. I must have fallen asleep. I’m sorry and it won’t happen again,” he said quietly.

“Mr. Jones if you cannot be bothered to stay awake in my class then you may leave. I don’t know what could possibly have you this tired, as you have also neglected to turn in the last two homework assignments.” Emma’s blood was boiling now. She had always been more of a reactive person. She’d react then deal with the consequences later. In the past few years, she had managed to reign in her temper, but today felt like a “fuck it” kind of day.

“I had to work late. I’m s--” he started.

“Professor Highly, no disrespect, but I don’t believe it is any of your business what is going on in his personal life nor is it your right to publicly humiliate him for the whole class to see. He was far too polite to say this, but I actually kicked him when I noticed him sleeping. So the person you should really be yelling at is me. Or maybe no one. Maybe consider actually teaching something instead of flipping through powerpoint slides. Half of your class is asleep and I guarantee not all of them have the same excuse as Killian.”

The professor stood slack jawed and looked as if she was going to issue a rebuttal, but since Emma started, she couldn’t quite let it go there.

“Also, like, obviously Killian isn’t some kind of trouble maker! He’s the quietest person in the class. In three months, this is the first time I have ever heard him speak. Funny how, your nephew in the third row who never shuts up never hears shit from you. If this kind of gross bias continues, I’ll be forced to report you to the dean. And before you say it, I’ll see myself out of class.” And just like that she picked up her things, ignoring all the wide eyed stares and scattered applause, as she marched out of the lecture hall.

She made it out of the lecture hall, still pissed. Honestly, she just wanted to hit something or someone. The balloons set up on a table outside the library looked promising.

Fuck. Was she going to get expelled now? Stupid Emma. Once she got started, she just couldn't stop. She hated her mouth sometimes, because she could cut someone to pieces and burn bridges in a single word, but somehow she can’t seem to ever say anything kind or decent. Figures.

Fuck. What if she got expelled? There’s no way her financial aid would allow her to finish her degree. Do people get expelled for this kind of thing? I mean, this is college. They don’t do detention in college. What kind of backlash is she realistically even looking at? If she can’t finish her degree, what is she going to do? Go back to living in her yellow bug? Wasn’t the whole point of this college thing to get out of the bug? Goodbye police academy, she thought bitterly. Her anxiety was building up and consuming her. 

As she walked out of the building, she took a second to try to ground herself. Five things she can see: tree, car, fire hydrant, clouds, big fucking buildings. Four things she can hear: footsteps, a voice she couldn’t quite process at the moment, birds chirping, brakes squealing in the parking lot. Three things she can feel: her sock falling off her heel in her shoe, the tag on her shirt scratching her back, someone grabbing her shoulder-- “what the fuck?” she yelled, whipping around to see (and fight) her possible attacker.

Killian Jones stepped back and threw his hands in the air. “Whoa whoa, sorry to scare you!”

“It’s whatever, you didn’t scare me,” she retorted defensively, turning her chin up in a prideful way.

“Good to hear, Swan. I, uh, I wanted to thank you for what you did back there. It was kind of you to stick up for me.” He scratched behind his ear and looked up at her timidly. 

Wow, those eyes are really blue.

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

“No, it was. It was a big deal. I just want you to know that I recognize you have accepted some personal liability for my actions. And I’m thankful. Is there anything I can do for you? I’ll carry your books, maybe do your homework?” A small smile crept up on his lips.

“Shouldn’t you do your own homework first?” She quirked her eyebrow.

“That’s a fair point,” he chuckled. “The offer still stands, love. Anything your heart desires,” he said with a wink (which Emma thought was a little too theatrical).

“Yeah, just you know, maybe don’t fall asleep next time and I won’t have to kick you.”

“Ah, but what fun would that be? Maybe I like it a little rough!” His accent embraced his innuendo and he sounded completely sinful. She scoffed, rolling her eyes dramatically. 

Apparently, he isn't shy. She thought back to the months of silence from him wherein she barely registered his existence. Had she, in that poorly thought out speech, broken some sort of dam within him containing all his innuendos and bravado?

“Please, does that work for you?” she spat. “Seriously though, why are you working so late?”

“Oh, Swan, if you want to get to know me better, at least let me buy you a meal.” He smiled flirtatiously, but something about it didn’t feel genuine. Emma always joked with her friends that she had a built in polygraph. If that was the case, the needle was off the charts right now. Perhaps work wasn’t something he generally wanted to discuss. Or, a more sinister reason could be at play. Who doesn’t want to bitch about work? It was one of Emma’s favorite things. What did he even do for a living? Was he a drug dealer? 

“You’re ridiculous. I thought you were the quiet, shy, reserved guy.” She rolled her eyes and took a step back, pivoting her weight between her feet.

He took a very intentional step forward.

“Aye, I can be. Maybe I just wanted to get to know the loud, opinionated girl who kicked me so hard that it is definitely going to bruise.” She couldn’t help but smile. 

“Loud? Should I be offended?”

“On the contrary, I quite like that you aren’t afraid to speak your mind. So, don’t be afraid to speak it now. Would you go to dinner with me?”

She looked around, feeling a blush creep up on her cheeks. “I don’t know...I don’t really do the whole dating thing.”

“Then call it whatever makes you feel comfortable….it’s a free meal, Swan,” he bargained. She could tell that he was watching himself. While she might find it creepy if someone else had said it, his words seemed playful. 

“And your company, right?” She took a step forward.

“I assume that’s part of it.” 

“Okay.” They shared a smile and she gave him her phone number. This was so not where she saw her day going when she started it.  
\--*--  
The first time he ever texted her, she was at her friend Mary Margaret’s house. Mary Margaret is a great friend—a bit nosy, but great. Emma sometimes felt that they were total opposites. While Mary Margaret was the epitome of warmth—a cozy blanket and a good book by the fireplace—Emma was a frigid tundra. Mary Margaret had her hope speeches and belief in good intentions, and well, Emma had a bit of cynicism and a morbid sense of humor. Jaded as she was, Emma had very intentionally decided to keep her new thing a secret. The last thing she needed was for Mary Margaret to jump on the wedding train or worse yet, to lecture her for her bad behavior in class.

When her phone dinged with the incoming message, Mary Margaret popped her head up from her crafting project. Because, of course Mary Margaret is a crafter.

“Emma,” she started, shocked. “Emma, I am literally the only person who ever texts you. Who is that?”

“It’s no one.” Emma rolled her eyes.

“Come on, I think I’m actually the only person who has your phone number.” Mary Margaret giggled then jokingly cringed. “Which we should definitely do something about. Seriously though, who is it?” Mary Margaret inched closer to Emma on the couch, swiping her hand through her wispy, black hair.

“Oh my God. Would you stop? You are not the only one in my phone and if you must know, it’s just someone in my algebra class. He probably just has questions on the homework or something,” Emma lied. A white lie. Those are okay lies between friends, right? What’s the etiquette on that? 

“Oh so it’s a he, then?” Mary Margaret smiled knowingly. “Hm.” She took a sip of her tea for dramatic effect.

“Oh my god. You are ridiculous.”

“Does he have a name?” Emma cracked her neck on either side, giving Mary Margaret a pointed look.

“If I tell you, are you going to make a wedding pinterest board?” Mary Margaret put her hand to her chest, feigning offense. Emma quirked her eyebrow as if challenging her to answer.  
“Emma. That was one time. And you have really got to let that go.”

“You’re a mess. His name is Killian Jones.” Emma rushed through his name, suddenly very interested in the state of her cuticles. 

“And you’re not interested in him? Just a math...classmate?” Mary Margaret prodded.

“Exactly.”

“So, I have a theory,” Mary Margaret began, idly braiding a strand of Emma’s hair. 

“Of course you do.”

“I think you like him,” Mary Margaret said, and before Emma could interject, she held up a finger and continued. “And I think that scares you...for understandable reasons,” Mary Margaret added quickly and sympathetically as she patted Emma’s shoulder. 

Emma tried not to linger too much on Mary Margaret’s sympathetic voice. She didn't need any more pity. At this point in her life, she was over being pitied. When she was first adopted, it was out of pity. Who doesn't feel bad for the Interstate Infant famously left on the side of the road? When she was returned, everyone pitied the girl whose family returned a three-year-old girl. There was a time when she was younger that being pitied wasn’t so bad. It was currency: she told a story and someone bought her ice cream or let her have some of their lunch. But after years in the system, she grew a new exoskeleton of apathy to protect her from the puppy dog eyes, the whispers, and worst of all, the hand-outs. 

“I don’t really know him,” Emma said quietly, still inspecting her cuticles. “He could be a weird sex deviant,” she joked, desperate for a change in tone. “Do you want me to be in correspondence with a sex deviant?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at her meddling friend. Always meddling. 

“I'm sure that’s not the case. Get to know him, and for God sakes, answer his text already!” Mary Margaret giggled, while Emma cursed and dashed for her phone. Mary Margaret happily went back to crafting some sort of lantern with a wistful smirk.

Hey, this is Killian. I hope you’re having a lovely day. I wondered if you would be free this upcoming Saturday night?

Emma bit her lip as she mentally perused her schedule. Technically, there was nothing going on Saturday night, sure, but she could use the extra homework time. Would she do the homework though? Or would she curl up on the couch and steal Mary Margaret’s fancy popcorn while binging Cold Case episodes? She smirked and her thumbs tapped out a reply.

Hey, it’s lovely, I guess? I’m not doing anything important. What did you have in mind?

He responded immediately. She took a moment to idly wonder if the stomach-flipping sensation in her stomach was the butterflies people are always going on about or whether his directness scared the everloving fuck out of her. 

Maybe both.

How would you like to go out to dinner with me?

Dinner, she thought. On the plus side, it was a free meal, as he so intuitively stated before. On the down side, dinner is...intimate. Intimacy was something Emma regularly tried to avoid. Mary Margaret basically forced her way into Emma’s circle of trust, but Emma assured herself that was a fluke.

“Hey, you’ve got the worrying face on,” Mary Margaret chimed in, nudging Emma’s side. 

“What exactly is the worrying face?” Emma laughed.

“Well, for starters, it looks like you’re about to chew a hole through your lip. What’s the deal?” Emma self consciously stuck her bottom lip back out from between her teeth and tugged on the end of her hoodie.

“Dinner,” she sighed.

“Free meal,” Mary Margaret countered. Emma rolled her eyes.

“Intimate.”

“Honestly, Emma, it is one meal. We eat together all the time.” She exhaled a deep, exasperated breath. 

“Yeah, but I don’t want to fuck you!” Emma retorted. As she realized what she said, her eyes seemingly bulged out of her head and her hand came up to her mouth almost against her will.

“Ohhhh so that’s how it is?” Mary Margaret chuckled. 

“You’ve been hanging out with Ruby too much.” Emma narrowed her eyes at her friend who was struggling to regain composure. “And...I don’t know. He’s not bad looking.”

“Mhm. Sure.” 

“Well, I don’t know. He’s, I guess, kind of nice to look at.” Emma recalled his deep blue eyes and his dark hair that seemed perfectly windblown, like he was in a perpetual state of being wrecked.

“I would hope so, if you are thinking that about him,” she laughed. “So, you don’t want to get dinner because it’s too intimate, but you’ll sleep with him?”

While Mary Margaret never actually side-eyed her, Emma swore she could hear it in her tone.

“Sex isn’t always intimate. It doesn’t have to be, at least.”

“Now who’s hanging out with Ruby too much?” She laughed. “Dinner is a very normal thing for people to do on a date, Emma. What would you rather do, go bowling?”

Emma was sure it was meant as a sarcastic comment, but truth be told, Mary Margaret was never great at sarcasm. 

And that’s how Emma wound up at Storybrooke Lanes with Killian on a Saturday night.  
\--*--

Over the course of the five days preceding their date, Emma’s phone saw more action than a Vin Diesel movie. And strangely, she didn't mind at all. She liked that his favorite movie was The Holiday although he tells his guy friends that it’s all of the Star Wars movies. She feigned outrage when he told her he hadn't seen her favorite movie, Back to the Future. It went back and forth with little dashes of flirting here and there. She found herself laughing alone in her apartment as he recounted his meeting with the dean and Prof. Highly wherein the professor’s ass was effectively handed to her. The part that scared her was when he asked about her life. He truly seemed to want to know her opinions. When they played the equivalent of the twenty question game, it wasn't just an excuse to ask her about her sex life. It was a vehicle to get to know the real her. She evaded as smoothly as she possibly could, citing that she’d tell him but she wouldn't want to catch him snoring again. He begged her not to kick him and she was relieved that they were back in safe territory, far away from the scary emotional feelings.  
Emma would be lying if she said she wasn't at least curious if their chemistry was as dynamic as it seemed. Be that as it may, she held reservations about all the pet names he seemed taken to. There was scarcely a text that wasn't littered with “love”, “darling”, or “dear”.

Emma’s yellow bug puttered into the parking lot five minutes before their agreed upon time. She had padded in a few minutes to fix the black smudge on her cheek from her mascara. As she settled into a parking lot, she noted another car waiting. 

Fuck, that’s him. So much for fixing mascara smudges.

When he noticed her car pull in to the parking lot, Killian stepped out of his black Acura, and made her choke on air. He wore a charcoal gray henley that fit just right over his muscles, dark jeans, and Nikes. She took a second to let a controlled breath escape from her pursed lips. 

Damn. 

There was no way she wasn’t going to be seeing that for the next several nights in her alone time. 

When she had recovered, she exited her car to join him. “You found it!” she said as a matter of greeting, leaving a bit of distance between them as she approached.

“I’m not going to lie, Swan, when I followed the GPS, I was surprised you wanted to come here.” Killian shifted his eyes back and forth, as if he was staying alert for possible muggers or attackers. He walked a few paces toward her and hit the lock button on his keys a few times.

“Geez, are you nervous?” she joked. “I promise you, no one will steal your car.”

“I’m not really concerned about the car, love. I guess I just habitually have to hear the beeps a few times. I don’t know why,” he shrugged.

“Oh, I get that. I actually never lock my car.” He tilted his head and blinked a few times in surprise.

“Come again?”

“Well, the lock is broken and I just...if they want to put up with that piece of shit, let them take it,” she explained, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He reached forward as if forcibly propelled and used his thumb to wipe away the forgotten mascara smudge and for a moment, everything stopped. 

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. He’s insanely hot, she finally admitted to herself. He’s insanely hot and he’s touching me. But it’s fine. Totally fine.

“Love, I would’ve picked you up. It would have been no hassle...my pleasure, even.” She subconsciously licked her lips. She was decidedly wrong about the pet name. She loved the way his silky accent caressed the word as it dripped from his lips like honey. The word pleasure and its latent promise had a tingle running down her spine. She shook it off.

“That’s exactly what a crazy axe murderer would say,” she said flatly, turning to raise an eyebrow his way. He laughed dismissively and rolled his eyes. 

“Swan, are you quite sure you don’t want to go to someplace a little more...reputable...to eat?” He asked as he took in the worn down building in front of them. Emma definitely saw what he saw. When this place first opened in the late seventies, it had a white brick exterior; however, now it appeared more of a urine-yellow color. It was in obvious disrepair, the lights on “Storybrooke Lanes” were all but burnt out and as it happened they spelled “Broke As,” which she supposed was fitting. Even from the parking lot, the stench of cigarette smoke turned her stomach. 

When she had suggested bowling, she forgot the bit about actually having to step foot in the only bowling place in town. She contemplated for a moment; toggling the idea of suggesting a movie instead, but with the way he looked today, she knew a movie would present too many temptations. Light hearted fun. That’s what she needed. 

“Oh no, this place is great! They’ve got nachos and stuff.” Killian’s nose scrunched up in distaste. 

“And...that’s what sounds good to you? Stale corn chips and fake cheese?”

“Gotta love that fake cheese. Very...filling,” she said, searching for something that wasn’t a lie.

“You know, Swan...you’re something of an open book.” Killian quirked an eyebrow, knowingly.

“Oh yeah?” she replied, desperately trying not to let her panic show on her face. He scratched behind his ear and smiled softly.

“Yeah, but...your reasons are your own and if going here and eating fake cheese makes you feel more comfortable, then, by all means, let’s go.” He held out his hand for her to take. She examined his proffered hand for a moment and weighed his words. 

“Alright.” She smiled. “Do you Brits have cotton candy over there?” He laughed heartily at her sweet tooth and led them inside. She stopped directly at the snack bar and perused their offerings.

“You mean candy floss?” he said with a grin, nodding to the pink sugary mass that Emma was digging through her purse to buy. He knocked her hand away lightly and handed the attendant a credit card. “We’ll take the candy floss, nachos, and a game please.” They quickly gave their shoe sizes and happily walked over to their assigned lane.

“You guys always have to make it weird,” she teased, nudging him in the arm as he made a show of savoring his “candy floss”.

“Us? It’s you treasonous lot that make it weird. What in the world is a fanny pack?” She rolled her eyes good naturedly, tying her company-issued bowling shoes and tried not think about the people who wore them before her.

“No one sane has worn a fanny pack in years. What’s so funny about that?”

“Love, fanny is a crude term for a lady’s most delicate area,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Oh. Certainly gives Funny Girl a new meaning, huh?” Killian seemed oblivious to what she thought was a brilliant reference. He picked out a ball while she typed in US and ENGLAND for their names on the scorecard.

“It’s the second Revolutionary War...without all the tea business.” She smirked.

“Well, love, since I’m representing her majesty, don’t expect me to take it easy on you.” He swaggered over to her with a pink six-pound ball, gifting it to her. 

“Please,” she buffered, holding up a hand to him. “I don’t need you to go easy on me.”

“Do you want me to go hard on you then?” he asked, his voice absolutely saturated with filth. She tried to suppress the shiver. 

God damn, He knew what he was doing. 

“I’m not worried,” she scoffed, “We beat you guys once, pretty sure we can hand you the L again.” She said, shoving the pink ball back toward him. “Do you need the bumpers up to stay out of the gutters? No shame, Jones.”

He took another intentional step forward so they had just the neon pink bowling ball between them and her breathing quickened an infinitesimal amount. 

“Maybe I don’t mind being in the gutter,” he said softly in her ear after leaning in closely, depositing the ball back in her hands, before he turned and walked to retrieve his thirteen-pound ball from the rack. 

Asshole. 

The game began and of course, he was very good at bowling and she was very not-good. He had achieved a few strikes and spares, and at about half way through the game she decided she was not above loudly “coughing” while he was mid-throw. After an unsuccessful throw, he turned to her with a mock look of consternation. 

“Now Swan, that was not good form.”

“Good form?” She inquired as she picked her pink ball back up.

“Aye, good form. Playing by the rules is good form. Cheating, surprisingly, not good form,” he shrugged.

“But it's okay to go all clobbering time on me here?” She arched an eyebrow, alluding to her current score of fifteen to his triple digit score.

“Letting you win disingenuously….bad form, love” he smirked. She made a show of rolling her eyes. As she finally posed to lob the ball down the lane, he spoke up. “I suppose it would be good form to help you though.” He sauntered over casually. “If you point your feet this way” he gently tapped her hip as he came to stand behind her. He helped her draw the ball back, his biceps flexed on her skin through the thin material of his shirt and the sensation of his breath on her neck caused her hair to stand on end. “As you let go, keep your hand pointing toward where you want it to go” he guided lowly. 

She let go of the ball and followed through with her hand, and the ball rolled down the shiny wood lane straight into the remaining five pins. A cartoon pin appeared on the screen with a thumbs up announcing her spare.

He smiled warmly as she excitedly jumped up and down. “Oh my god, I did it! I did it! We did it! Thank you!” Emma screeched and Killian couldn't help but chuckle. As the excitement started to wear off, she tucked her hair behind her ear and turned to face him. 

“So where does all this good form stuff come from? Because I have no idea what it is, but that was definitely it,” she laughed.

His eyes momentarily darkened before he shook his head and painted on a shy smile. He licked his lip nervously and brought his hand to scratch behind his ear. As if summoning courage, he started slowly. “My...my brother was a naval captain. When I was a lad, my mum passed away and my father couldn't handle the responsibility. Liam...he raised me. He was always on about good form and doing the right thing. He was a great man.”

“Was,” Emma repeated quietly and cautiously.

“Was,” he confirmed solemnly. “There was an accident when I was eighteen and he, unfortunately, was killed.” 

“I'm so sorry to hear that Killian. It’s hard losing people you love. People who love you,” she replied sadly.

“It is. I didn't handle it very well. I drank my way through my liquor cabinet and flunked out of my first year of college.” He didn't make eye contact with her as he continued. “It took me a few years to sober up and when I did, I came to the land of opportunities.” He said almost sardonically. He clicked his tongue and his blue eyes bored into her emerald eye. “Fewer reminders here.”

“And that's when you started snoring in my algebra class,” she gently teased. While she sympathized with him and had to hold back the deluge of stories containing her own tragedies, something inside kept screaming “too much”. Too much. Too close. Too real.

“You could say that.” He returned her smile and threw the ball down the lane, earning him yet another strike. He turned around comically raising his eyebrows as his jaw dropped. 

“Oh my God. How are you doing this??” she yelled indignantly. They found their rhythm again and played the last few frames. Despite his coaching, her throws didn't seem to improve at all. If anything, they may have gotten worse. Their finishing score for the first game, though she was adamant that he purposely fouled her and maybe cheated, was 245 to 30. 

When he suggested that maybe his ruggish good looks had distracted her, she scoffed and said it must have been the fake cheese. Of course, the way his jeans pulled snugly over his firm ass when he bent down to roll the ball down the lane didn’t help matters. He didn’t need to know that.

He drove them for ice cream and a burger at a local fast food chain and she found herself thinking that maybe spending time with him wasn’t so bad. In fact, it wasn’t bad at all. And the view watching him score all those strikes wasn’t so bad either. She took a sip of her chocolate shake and replayed the way his biceps flexed when he brought the ball up to his chest, the way his lips embraced his finger after he dipped his finger in the nacho cheese to taste it. She had honestly never thought about food and sex concurrently this much, but suddenly she wanted to lick the processed cheese right off of him. 

“Swan...Emma, are you alright?” he asked in a curious tone as he came to a stop once again in the bowling alley parking lot. She was suddenly aware that he’d been speaking to her as she was mentally undressing him, because she was not even aware he had driven them back let alone parked.

She choked on her shake a little.

“Yeah, of course,” she said as she cleared her throat and looked over at him. He smiled at her warmly. 

“You, uh, you looked like maybe you were somewhere else.” He scratched behind his ear, a slight blush coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

Busted.

“No, I was just enjoying my shake. You know, anything’s an improvement over bowling alley nachos.” She made a half-hearted attempt at humor that fell flat. His blue eyes commanded her attention. She forced herself to take a breath. The air felt thick suddenly, like she was breathing water. She thought she saw a spark in his eyes, but just as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared and he was shakily laughing.

“I guess that’s true. You must have really enjoyed that shake. Good to know for next time,” he gave her a smile verging on sardonic and wiped his mouth off with a napkin. “I mean, if there is a next time, that is.”

As much fun as she had been having, she felt an immediate recoil at his boldness. Next time? He was already thinking about next time? Emma didn't do “next times”; she barely even did first times. Despite her reservations, she reasoned with herself that he did look amazing in that henley. She could see his muscles ripple as gripped the steering wheel. Suddenly parched and feeling hoarse, she cleared her throat and decided to be brave. Well, as brave as Emma can be.

“Who says this time is over?” she challenged, looking over him appreciatively. She bit her bottom lip and her eyes met his fiercely. 

He didn’t look away, and his blue eyes seemed to spark again with interest. “What exactly are you suggesting, Swan?”

She didn’t say anything. She slowly leaned in and grazed his lips. It took him a moment to respond. He exhaled shakily. Suddenly his hands found her hair and his lips met hers again for a bruising kiss. His tongue traced her bottom lip, seeking entrance, which she joyfully allowed. His right hand made a fist at the base of her head, tugging on her hair ever so slightly. Their tongues clashed as they let their desire run rampant. He ran his other hand down her back, which earned him a low moan of appreciation. She lightly bit down on his lip as she broke away from the kiss. He chased her lips and gave her two chaste pecks before chuckling.

“That was…,” he started, breathlessly. He raised his eyebrows and scratched behind his ear again.

“I know,” she smiled. Killian reached forward and tucked an errant hair behind Emma’s ear. She closed her eyes and inhaled as he moved his hand to cup her face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, letting his thumb graze over her cheek bone. 

“Thank you,” she softly replied. 

“I’d really like to kiss you again.” 

“Then do it.” Before the words were even out of her mouth, he was lunging for her. He connected with her lips and eagerly invaded her mouth with his tongue. His hand reached over the console and slid down her back and sides. 

He departed from her lips, placing open mouth kisses down her jaw to her neck. He chuckled darkly when she sharply inhaled as his lips found her pulse point, sucking and kissing there for a moment before he moved up to nibble on her ear. She moaned delicately and turned her head to give him better access. 

“Swan, you have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he whispered into her ear in between scrapes of his teeth against her earlobe.

“I think I know exactly what I’m doing to you,” Emma retorted, letting her hands do some wandering of their own as they travelled down his firm chest to the crotch of his jeans. She felt a very sizeable bulge underneath the denim and raised her eyebrows. She began to massage the area through his jeans as his ministrations on her neck stuttered. His breathing accelerated hot and irregular.

“Maybe,” he breathed, his eyes closed in pleasure as he pulled his head away, “maybe we should take this somewhere a little more private.” 

She smirked, loving her power over him. “You’ve got a backseat, don’t you?” She winked at him. She couldn’t believe she actually did it, or what had come over her, but she winked. Killian’s mouth fell open and he slowly blinked a few times in what she could only describe as a stunned expression. His surprised face suddenly turned to a sly grin. His eyes seemed to turn a shade darker.

“Indeed I do.” Killian looked around the parking lot for other cars or any unwanted viewers. Feeling confident in their level of privacy (as private as it can get for public sex, that is), he exited the driver’s side and slipped into the backseat. She climbed over the middle console to join him, thanking whatever universal beings may exist that she didn’t trip on her way over. She deposited herself onto Killian’s lap and straddled him. He ran his hands down her back and under the hemline of her blouse, his thumb grazed up and down her lower back. 

She deepened the kiss, grinding her hips down against his. The bulge in his pants became more apparent and he moaned against her lips. He began tugging on her top, desperate for the feel of her skin on his, but she batted his hand away and pulled her shirt over her head. His eyes locked in on her chest and he kissed the skin available to him, starting at her collarbone and down to the swell of her breasts. She threw her head back and unclasped her bra, thankful for the dark tint on his windows. When her breasts were free, Killian kissed down until he found her nipple. He took it gingerly into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the pink pebbled flesh. She whimpered as his teeth gently scraped against her sensitive skin. She ran her hands down his chest to take hold of the hem of his henley and pulled it off in one swift movement, discarding it carelessly behind her. As he switched his attention to the other nipple and brought his hand up twirl and pinch the other one, she ran her hands through the thick thatch of hair covering his defined chest. 

“Oh god, I love your breasts,” he said in between licking and sucking on her left one. She let her head fall back slightly and bucked her hips into him. 

“I want you so bad,” he growled. His hands travelled up her legs to her hips, flirting with the lining of her leggings. “Is this okay, Swan?”

“Oh god, yes. Take them off,” she groaned, unable to say anything more eloquently. He lifted her up just enough to shimmy off her pants, leaving her in just a black lace thong. The arousal that covered his face intensified as his eyes darkened and his mouth set slightly agape. He unbuttoned his jeans and shrugged them off until he just had a tightly fitting pair of boxer briefs on. She reached forward for the tent in his underwear. She could think of nothing she wanted more than to feel him with her mouth. He obliged as she pushed him backward in the cramped back seat of his car and removed his underwear. He winced as the back of his head made contact with the window. To placate the throbbing pain in his head, she placed small kisses around his inner thighs which shuddered at her contact. She licked slowly up his length and without much more preamble, she took him wholly into her mouth. He groaned deeply.

“Fuck, fuck, love,” he said, squirming from the heightened sensitivity. Emma had always prided herself on her abilities when it came to blowjobs. She would joke with her friend Ruby that it was her specialty. She treated him to the Emma Swan special, which included a lot of licking and looking up at him through her eyelashes. “You look so lovely with my cock in your mouth, but if we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to properly please you,” he said, quite eloquently she thought.

She started to shimmy out of her thong when Killian brought up a hand to stop her. “I want you to keep them on. They’re hot,” he explained. He brought his hand down to trace the lace border of her thong, over her core. “Oh what’s this?” He grinned salaciously. He pushed the lace to the side and ran his finger through her wetness. “You are so wet for me, love. So deliciously wet for me.”

He withdrew his finger and brought it to his mouth to suck his finger clean. It was the hottest thing she had ever seen and she was ready to take him now. Emma hooked her leg over his hip and straddled his lap, rubbing herself up against him. She lifted her hips and slowly sank down onto him. It took her a few times to get her rhythm as she was mindful not to hit the roof of the car with her head. Once she had made some adjustments, she couldn’t tell whose moan was whose. His hands were everywhere and she was quickly approaching her climax.

Killian, though devilishly sexy and charming, had turned out to be much more gentle than she expected him to be. He swept the hair out of her face and whispered little encouragements like “that’s it, love” or “just like that, darling”. Before Emma knew it, she was tumbling over the edge with him, coming with a loud moan of appreciation. As she rode out her high, she locked eyes with him and within his blue irises, she saw hope, adoration, and it was too fucking much. He was too attentive. He was too kind. He was too unblemished. Perhaps the nail in the coffin wasn't at all about him. Perhaps it was that, if she was being totally honest, those eyes that sparked with hope and adoration were reflecting what she felt. She couldn't do it. She had to get out and get out now.

When it was over, she quietly got dressed and helped him find his shirt. Killian looked disappointed as she slipped her shoes on, like he wanted her to cuddle and have pillow talk. The atmosphere suddenly felt too heavy with expectation and a siren in the back of her mind screamed “get out get out get out”. 

“Um, so thanks for this,” she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Like all of it, not just the sex part. But that was good too,” she blushed.

“When can I see you again?” he asked without hesitation. Get out. Get out. Get out. 

“I’ll, I’ll call you,” Emma stuttered. She opened the car door and walked quickly to her yellow bug and left him sitting in his backseat without pants on. 

\--*--

Mary Margaret poured her some tea and came around to sit down. “There’s some milk in the fridge if you’d like me to get it for you,” she offered.

“No, that’s okay. I'm trying to cut out dairy. Thanks though,” she said taking a tentative sip to avoid burning her mouth.

“So, how’s Killian?” Emma sputtered on her tea. 

“Wow, you don’t beat around the bush anymore, do you?” she asked incredulously.

“I’m just happy for you, Emma.” Her friend reached across the table and took Emma’s hand. She didn’t let go, which with anyone else would be weird, but Emma was used to Mary Margaret’s particular brand of overbearing.

“Thank you, but I don’t think there’s really anything to say.”

“What? Did he break up with you?” Mary Margaret’s mouth fell agape and her eyebrows knit together.

“Well we weren’t a couple, so you can’t really break up a not-couple,” Emma said, shakily taking a sip of her tea.

“What do you mean, you’re not a couple? You guys were texting nonstop and I thought you had that date.”

“We did,” Emma shrugged, Mary Margaret looked at Emma as if her head was going to fly off and explode if Emma gave her another two-word answer.

“Well, did the date go okay? You guys went bowling, right?” Emma idly stirred her tea, watching the sugar particles swirl and dissolve.

“It went fine. He was nice.”

“But you’re not into him?” Emma’s always had a bad poker face. Try as she might to keep her face neutral, she had a ghost of a smile light up her face as she thought of just how into him she really was. “I saw that! You are into him!!”

“That’s not really the issue,” Emma said quietly, again preoccupied with any small detail that wasn’t this conversation. 

“So there’s an issue,” Mary Margaret nodded with understanding. It seemed like she was letting the thought marinate for a moment as she imbibed her tea. Halfway through swallowing her sip, her eyes widened. “Did you have sex with him?”

“Yeah, and don’t get all judgy about it. A lot of people have casual sex, Mary Margaret,” Emma said defensively, crossing her arms.

“I wasn’t going to be judgy. It’s a shame he didn’t call after though. He seemed like such a nice guy!” 

“He is.” Emma said quietly. “He is a nice guy. That’s the whole problem,” Emma whispered, almost to herself. He was kind. He respected her space and autonomy. He was funny and clever. He was sexy. He was great in bed. He seemed like a perfect fit. It was like he saw right through her and got her. And that was precisely why she had to run. The perfect ones that fit too well come in and everything is good...for a while. Until they leave. They change. She’d seen it before in foster care. The Johnsons told her she was the perfect addition to their family, until they sent her back. The Smiths said she was what they had always dreamed of, but when she wasn't a cute, toothless six-year-old anymore, they grew tired of her and sent her back. The same cycle continued over and over again. She didn't need someone who could read her like an open book. She didn't need to feel like she was finally home, only to have that ripped away.  
It was probably in his best interest any way. He didn't need her baggage weighing him down. What Killian needed was a nice girl who had a nice family who didn't have a fucked up history and a jaded view of life. Killian needed stability. She couldn't give him that.  
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She read through the words a few times and added to the list of unanswered texts he had sent her over the last two weeks.

Hey, Emma, it’s Killian. I had a really great time on our date last week. I was hoping you’d be up for drinks soon? 

Hey, it’s been kind of a crazy week...finals aggg. Would you want to go take your mind off of it with me?

Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you in a while. 

Emma, I feel like you’re avoiding me. I understand if you aren’t interested anymore. I apologize.

Emma can you just give me a call so I know you’re okay. I respect whatever decision you make, I just want to know if you are okay.

Goodbye Emma. Sorry it didn’t work.

She read through the last text a few times and the sadness in his text tugged at her. She wanted to call. She wanted to comfort him. But guys like Killian don’t need girls like Emma. Guys like Killian need girls who know what they want. He’s a nice guy. 

Maybe she was not a nice girl.  
\--*--

The first time she stalked his social media pages desperately in the middle of the night came eight months after she stopped talking to him. She was drunk and sitting on her bathroom floor with a bottle of wine in one hand and her phone in the other. The tile felt cold on her skin and the wine felt warm going down her throat. She wasn’t sure what sort of madness had lead her to this point. Maybe it was graduation looming over her and the threat of having to find a real big girl job. Maybe it was the fact the Mary Margaret and David just announced their engagement. Maybe it was that she was so fucking lonely.

And she didn’t have to be. Emma Swan had made the choice to be lonely. Fucking bitch, she cursed herself, crying into her wine. Emma hadn't seen him since the date. She’d faked an illness and begged her teacher to let her take the final in one of the other class sections to avoid seeing him. After that semester, she heard he graduated with his associates and left Storybrooke. Mary Margaret had added him on Facebook and tried to keep Emma updated, no matter how often Emma asked her to delete him. Sober Emma had a hard and fast rule that she didn't discuss Killian or entertain thoughts of him. Drunk Emma did not have that rule.  
She searched his name and it brought him up right away. They weren’t friends on Facebook and his page was private, but from what she could tell from his profile picture, he’d put on a bit of muscle. He looked to be wearing some sort of military garb. She had a lot of questions that wouldn’t be fair of her to ask. So she took to hate reading the messages he sent her which she had locked and saved in a password protected file on her phone. 

‘Sorry it didn’t work.’

Me fucking too.  
\--*--

Neal was charming, but in a loud sort of way. He was spontaneous and fun. He didn’t have a filter. He didn’t think before he acted. He didn’t take anything seriously. He changed his mind on what he wanted every other day. He never asked her anything personal or deep and she never offered. He didn't seem like he’d care about the answers if she gave them. He never seemed to know what was going on in her mind and she didn't mind. She didn't have to have a guard up, because he never tried to get past her walls. He had his own. He was a fun roller coaster ride and Emma never wanted to get off. 

She met him on the first day of police academy. He cracked a joke that he was going to have to arrest her and from then on, she was hooked. A couple months in and he was moving in. It was more so out of convenience and necessity after he had a falling out with a roommate and ended up homeless. Emma didn't think about it. She invited him to stay with her. They were decorating Christmas trees and talking about vacations and big dream houses. He didn’t scare her and maybe that’s why she never saw it coming. 

They had been together thirteen months when she came home to find all of his things gone, including their vacation money. He had the decency to leave a note next to his apartment key.

Sorry.

That was all it fucking said. Her palms were shaky. She felt like she needed to vomit. She ran to the bathroom and collapsed on the floor, exhausted from her tears. He left. He left. He left. He wasn’t supposed to leave. 

That was her thing. 

The room felt small and black and the walls were closing in. She heard slamming doors and the voices of her various foster parents over the years giving up on her for one reason or another. She thought of her parents, if you could call them that. Her breathing accelerated and she started to feel an overwhelming panic take over. Was she dying? Was this what dying felt like? 

Just as she collected herself enough to dry her eyes, a knock on the door came. She rushed to the door, shakily laughing. “Neal, you fucking asshole, you scared me. Next time bring your ke-,” she said as she answered the door. 

Two police officers stood in front of the door, humorless.

“You’re not...You’re not Neal,” she said quietly, a moment of realization hit her. Something bad had happened. 

“That’s actually what we’ve come to talk to you about. Have you seen Neal Cassidy?”  
The larger of the two officers asked, his voice deep and intimidating. 

“Uh, no,” she paused, “not since this morning before I left for class. He was...he was...he said he wasn’t feeling well...I’m sorry, what is this about?” she shook her head. Nothing was making sense and she felt like she needed to catch her breath.

“We have reason to believe that Mr. Cassidy is involved in some evidence going missing.”

“What?” Her jaw dropped in disbelief. “No, no, Neal is going to be a cop. We’re the good guys. You’ve got this whole thing wrong.”

“We have video footage of him removing several narcotics from the evidence room. We believe he may be selling the narcotics. Has he been acting strange at all?”

It all hit her at once. She had been played. It wasn’t a misunderstanding at all.

“He left. I came home and all of his stuff was gone. He took our vacation money,” she said in a monotone voice, not able to look up from the ground.

“How much money would you say is missing?”

“Nine hundred and three dollars,” she answered immediately. “He said we were going to go to Tallahassee. We’re not...we’re not going to Tallahassee...are we?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I think you need to take a seat. May we come in and take a look around?”

“Yeah.” She mindlessly ended up on the couch, trying to process what was happening.

It could have been five minutes. It could have been an hour. She wasn’t sure. When the officers emerged once more, they were holding a bag of white powder.

”Do you know anything about this, Ms. Swan?”

“No, what the fuck?” She was hyperventilating now. 

It was true. He was a thief. He was a narcotic thief. He brought the narcotics into her home. Their home. Her head was reeling and she felt like she was being swept up in a tornado.

“Ms. Swan, we’re going to need to talk to you downtown.”

“No, no, wait, am I in trouble?” Emma asked. “I didn’t do anything!” she exclaimed as they ushered her out the door. “I didn’t do anything,” she whispered as they put her in the back of squad car.

While they cleared her of involvement, they also kicked her out of the academy. Apparently, the live-in girlfriend of a dirty cadet wasn’t the kind of employee they were looking for. She felt sick to her stomach again, carrying her box of belongings out of the Boston police district building. Before she could act, her stomach lurched and emptied its contents into her box of belongings.

And that was how she found out she was pregnant.  
\--*--

The first time she accidentally texted him again was two and half years following the ghosting incident. She was lying in an ER bed crying while stroking her small, round belly, with an IV in her left arm. 

The monitor on the IV was beeping; it was too loud and too steady. She tried to decipher what it meant, but it all seemed like gibberish. She hit the button a nurse had given her and couldn't feel the rush of cold fluid run through her veins like she'd felt before. She hit her call light and even though she was speaking and the nurse was speaking, it all seemed like it was too fast for her to comprehend. The nurse pressed a button on the machine and the beeping stopped. She tried to press her magic medicine button again now that the machine wasn't screaming at her and was relieved when the pain relief came. 

She shouldn't have to do this by herself. She didn't want to be alone. She could call Mary Margaret, who would definitely come and take care of her, but Mary Margaret had her own life in Storybrooke, and she also couldn't stand to see the looks Mary Margaret would give her. Too pitiful. 

She didn't have much of anyone else. She silently cried alone in her hospital bed, watching the ticker tape on the left side of the bed print out straight lines. 

There was someone she could call. He wouldn't pity her, it wasn't his thing. He probably wouldn't even answer his phone. He probably didn't even have the same number. Who was she kidding? She couldn't call after all these years, especially how she left it. 

But maybe he’d be there for her or make her laugh. She didn't have anyone else. She resolved to send a text. Maybe he’d answer, maybe he wouldn't. It wouldn't hurt to try. 

She had done this typing out a message thing and deleting it thing multiple times now. She’d never actually sent anything. Until now.

Hi.

It took two minutes before she got a reply.

Emma? Do you have the right number?

Killian?

That’s me….Emma, are you okay?

No. Not at all.

Where are you?

Massachusetts General Hospital emergency room.

I’m on my way.

She had a lot of questions. Was he really going to drive all this way to come see her? Where was he? Why was he so nice? Why did he still have her number? She pushed the thoughts aside and tried not to cry anymore. A nurse came by to round on her and Emma stared at the words on her screen. “I’m on my way.”

Thirty minutes after she’d gotten his text, she heard a man at a desk arguing with a nurse. “She is my bloody family! Let me back to see her!” a familiar voice said passionately.

“Sir, we do not have a patient by that name,” the nurse tried to explain calmly.

“She told me she was here,” he argued. She pressed her call light and waited for a response. 

“Hello, how can I help you?” the nurse answered into the speaker in her room. Emma spoke into the call light remote. 

“I have a friend coming to see me, can you please let him in. His name is Killian Jones.” 

“Yes of course,” the nurse answered and then said something about her filling out a form for accepted visitors. She wasn’t really paying attention. She heard his footsteps break through the jarring beeps. He came in, looking as handsome as she had ever seen him. Tall, more muscular than she remembered, He wore an all black outfit that included a black leather jacket. He looked good. 

“Hi,” she greeted quietly.

“Hey, Emma,” he said standing by the door. 

“How have you been?” she asked. 

“Who cares how I’ve been, Swan? What’s going on with you?” He said pointing to her baby bump and gesturing around the room. 

“I lost him.” 

“The babe?” His voice softened as he stepped toward her.

“Yeah. I’m - ” A sob of grief tugged at her as she corrected herself “I was five months.” He came to her side and grabbed her hand.

“Is the father…?” he asked timidly, stroking smooth circles onto the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Gone.” Killian nodded understandingly. Emma felt the need to further explain. “He...he left without saying a word...he never knew about Henry.”

“Henry?” 

“It was his name, the baby’s,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry for crying! I feel so stupid. I shouldn't have called you out of the blue. And you were so nice to come here after all these years and I don't deserve it. I'm such a mess right now. I'm so sorry.”

“Don’t ever apologize for crying. The past, unfortunate as it may be, is the past. What do you need, love?”

“Stay,” she whispered. He brought his other hand to smooth the hair out of his face. She noticed it then, the glove on one hand and not the other. The hand that was a different size than his other one and didn’t bend the way it used to.

“Your hand…” 

“Ah, yeah, that,” he started, blushing around his cheeks. “I lost it in the line of duty.”

“You were in the military.” It wasn’t a question and she didn’t treat it as such. “I creeped on your Facebook.”

“I was, yeah, in the royal navy,” he said, looking down as if he was examining her IV site.

“But you aren’t anymore?” she asked, reaching forward and grabbing his prosthetic hand in hers. 

“No, I was honorably discharged after a year of service. I came back to the states after that and a mate of mine, Will, owns a bar here in town and he’s letting me crash here and bartend some. How about you? What brings you to Boston?”

“I went to police academy in town.” She suddenly was very interested in her IV site as well.

“But you aren’t there anymore.”

“No. When Neal...the baby’s father… left, he left on the run and somehow roped me into his bullshit. So for the optics, I was kicked out. I didn’t really know what to do, because all I’ve ever wanted to be was a cop. A friend of a friend, Regina, runs a bail bonds firm and so I’d been trying my hand at that. I fell during a chase and…” she gestured to the room around her, letting a silent tear escape as she caressed her little bump.

He didn’t show any pity, just quiet understanding. It was why she wanted to call him and not Mary Margaret or Ruby. It was a crazy thing to do, she knew that. He was exactly who she knew he was, a kind guy who would always be there for people he cared about, even though she definitely didn’t deserve his kindness.

“Thank you for coming. I’m sorry for what I did,” she sobbed. “It was a shitty, mean thing to do and you didn’t deserve it.”

“It was,” he acknowledged evenly and although it stung, she couldn't help but feel thankful that he said it. “But, I forgive you,” he said warmly, rubbing her hand comfortingly.  
“I wouldn’t forgive you if our places were switched.”

“That’s okay.” His voice was even and calm, and he didn’t show any emotion. She took a few measured breaths, thankful that he wasn’t telling her to calm down or control herself.

“I missed you,” she admitted quietly. “I know it’s not really fair of me to say that, but what we had was nice. You were nice.”

“I missed you as well, Emma.” 

“Killian, I’m really scared about this delivery. The doctor is going to come back to take me to the birthing room. And I’m so scared.” Her voice was small and frightened and she wasn’t used to that kind of vulnerability.

“Would you like me to go with you?” he offered sweetly and as he pushed the errant strand of hair out of her face, she knew it was genuine. She knew she wanted him there. 

“Please.”

He held her hand through the whole thing.

\--*--

They continued their friendship. As her grief turned into closure (which occasionally manifested as grief again), he would take her to coffee or to see a movie. When her body healed, he would accompany her on jogs. 

On one such jog, she turned to him during a walking portion. “So, were you dating anyone in England?”

He laughed heartily. “Why do you want to know?”

“Oh shut up.” She playfully shoved him. “Really, though.”

“For a bit,” he admitted, scratching behind his ear. 

“Ooooh, what was her name?” 

“Okay, Mary Margaret,” he shot her a pointed look. “Her name was Milah.”

“So how long did you date?” Emma wiped a bead of sweat off of her forehead and took a swig out of her water bottle.

“Seven months, ” he answered, stealing the water bottle from her and taking a generous swig himself before pouring the the remainder over his head and shaking his hair out. “Why, Swan, are you jealous?”

She watched the way the water rolled down his shoulders and biceps, the way his hair fell on his face when it was wet, and she shook her head. She forced a laugh and scoffed. “No way! You wish, Jones.”

He waggled his eyebrows at her. “I can’t say I’d blame you. I am devilishly handsome.”

“And horribly cocky,” she added as she picked her pace back up and jogged right past him. They continued in easy conversation for a bit, talking about the weather and Killian surprised her with his knowledge on cloud formations. It was easy. 

As soon she thought that, another part of her reminded her of the way he slid into her so well and what it felt like to have his lips on her. She tried to push that thought way down inside. Friends is good. Emma needed friends. She did not need to ruin the friendship. 

She ended up having to tell herself this quite often. Don’t ruin the friendship. You can have hot sex with anyone. Just don’t fuck it up. She told herself what seemed like a thousand times a day. Still, another part of her, a bit dirty, whispered. I could have sex with anyone. Not hot sex. Bearable sex. Nice sex. But hot sex? That’s got Killian written all over it.

The sex would be incredible, she was sure of that. But if it meant more to him than it did to her—or worse, if it meant less to him—she would be beside herself. She couldn't lose him now. He was her jogging buddy. He knew how she liked her tea. He knew that she changed her mind about the tea all the time and that he should just make her a hot chocolate instead. He listened to her cry when the grief got too much again and he never complained when she ranted about the same thing over and over. He forgave her for selfishly abandoning him without even a second thought. He had showed up and stayed with her through the worst moment of her life. When she beat herself up for falling for Neal, he revealed that Milah hadn't been what she appeared either; she was married. He helped her work through her anger in losing Henry by telling her about how he found forgiveness freeing after the loss of his hand; it was how he forgave her.

He argued with her about The Bachelor and politics and Chinese food and...he was her best friend. She couldn't lose her best friend.

Mainly, she had finally gotten to a place with him where things were comfortable. They flirted here and there, but she was comfortable. No one was hurt, no one was scared. It was nice. She couldn’t hurt him again. After everything they’ve been through and the way he took care of her, she vowed to herself she would never hurt Killian Jones again.

\--*--

Killian Jones was not making it easy for Emma to not ruin the friendship. 

Asshole. 

It wasn’t necessarily intentional, she was sure. It was more that the man was sex personified and 26 looked so damn good on him. Everything he did was hot. The fact perturbed and enraged Emma. He could be drinking a beer or combing his hair, and she was practically drooling. 

She wondered if he ever thought that about her. Thinking that way was a dangerous game to play when she was desperately trying not to get sexually involved with him. She found herself constantly questioning herself on whether she was doing anything that could be interpreted as sexual or misleading. Still, at night she would entertain the idea, letting her mind wander to the way his hands roved over her body in the backseat of his car. She replayed the way he stuck his tongue out a bit when he was concentrating. 

She let her hand wander lower on her body as she envisioned his hair glistening in the sunlight as he poured the water bottle over his head the week prior. Her fingers made tentative circles over her as she remembered the way his chest felt against her when she cried on him. How his laugh was musical and infectious in the pasta aisle of the grocery store.

What was she doing? She couldn’t do this. He wasn’t just some gorgeous man that she could fuck and forget. It’s Killian. 

“Ah, fuck!” she exclaimed in frustration, alone in her bed. It was so much easier before the feelings set in. Feelings. 

She sat straight up in bed, her back as straight as a rod. Did she have feelings for him? She wanted to screw his brains out, sure. She liked jogging with him. But, he was also the one she wanted to call when she was driving and he just passed through her mind on a Tuesday afternoon. He was the one she wanted to tell all her good news to. She wanted to be his confidant. The more she thought about it, the more she felt like she was just piecing together a puzzle everyone else had already finished.

Oh fuck. She loved Killian. 

Oh fuck.

She didn't plan on that. She tried to recall any particular moment that may have been the moment she fell in love, but all she could see was a montage of little moments. Insignificant little moments: Killian picking up her socks off the floor when she’d shirked them off haphazardly, Killian stopping to ask a local elderly woman if she needed help carrying her groceries in, Killian singing loudly in his car to Styx. She was in love.

What was she supposed to do with that information? Show up on his doorstep at—she checked the alarm clock on the side table to the left of her—one in the morning and confess her undying love for him? Certainly not. Emma didn't do feelings, much less declarations of undying love.

She would shelve it for now. She would place it neatly on the back burner until she had a clear moment to talk to him. She would absolutely not chicken out and have sex with him instead, though it was such a tempting idea. 

As she combed back through her memories, she wondered if he even returned her feelings. While he was far too good for her, Emma thought to herself that maybe she deserved him. Maybe Killian was a cosmic gift to her for all the bullshit she had been through. Maybe there was some kind of universal balance where all the heartache and rejection she’d faced would pale in comparison to the great love she’d find in him. If he loved her, that is. 

How could he not? What reasonable guy would go through all of that for a girl he didn't want? A girl he didn't love? Then again, Killian was far more gracious and kind than the average man. When grief over Neal hit her like a wave threatening to swallow her whole, Killian told her that she deserved someone who really loved her—someone who saw her value. Was he talking about himself? Why didn't he make a damn move?

Okay. No one is perfect. Maybe it would be easier if she didn't get carried away. She should weigh the pros out with the cons. What does she hate about him? She tapped her chin while she pondered. She searched through her memories for things that angered her. He didn't let her drive or pay when they were together. It was the twenty-first century and he needed to adapt. She can pump her own gas. He snored like a chainsaw. He never got pissed at her. 

That struck a nerve. He never got pissed at her. He should have been livid with her a thousand times, but he never showed it. Sure, he voiced frustration before. Disappointment. Never fury. Never rage. He never told her she was being a bitch. He simply dismissed himself until she was calmer. He never really told her off for all the shit she put him through. He should have done that. The way she treated him was horrible and he shouldn't have forgiven her so easily.

Her thoughts began to drift toward self loathing as she turned around in bed. She shouldn't torture herself this way, she knew that much. She decided to stroll through Facebook before sleeping on the whole “love” thing. 

She flipped through pictures of him on his page, a few of them featuring her. She thought he looked happy. She looked happy. They looked good together. She found herself smiling looking at the picture of them during one of their hikes, the sun reflecting off of his polarized sunglasses. 

She read through the comments. There was one from Mary Margaret telling them they looked like they were having fun and asking if they could come hike up to Storybrooke to see baby Leo. Another user complimented his nerdy glasses. A few asked where the picture was taken. 

One comment, a newly added one, from a pretty blonde cutely named Tink said, “you look amazing. You'll have to take me out there sometime.” For some reason, Emma’s blood began to boil. Hiking was their thing. She’s in the picture, for fuck’s sake. 

Killian had responded. “It's certainly a beautiful view up here. I'll tell you more about it when I see you next week”.

Next week? Was there something going on there? Why didn't he tell her? Sure, it wasn't like she owned him or that he had to tell her everything, but that was their thing. They confided in each other. It was a pretty big thing not to confide about. Disappointment settled into a pit in her chest and she recoiled from the way it coursed through her veins like ice. 

Did she read it all wrong? Did she build it up to something that wasn't there? She was so in her head, she didn't know what she felt anymore. It was after two at this point and she just wanted to sleep it off. She laid there quietly with her eyes closed and waited for sleep to take her away from the noise inside her mind

It didn't.  
\---*---

A few days had passed since the night she realized her feelings for Killian and, in typical Emma fashion, she had resorted to freezing him out. He tagged her in funny posts on facebook, he sent her a few texts, he called and left a voicemail asking if she wanted some coffee, but all of his attempts went unanswered.

Why don't you just get Tink some coffee, she thought bitterly. She had resolved to hole up in her little apartment and survive on takeout as long as she possibly could before she was out of vacation days. 

She was watching an episode of The Bachelor in her pajamas mid-afternoon when she heard a knock on her door. She had ordered Jimmy Johns ten minutes beforehand. It arrived faster than she expected, but they did say they were “freaky fast” so she shrugged it off.

When she opened the door, she was not expecting to see Killian. The look of surprise in his eyes reflected her own shock. Quickly deciding she was not ready to have this conversation, she shut the door in his face. Right as the door closed, she noticed his expression change from surprise to hurt. She turned the lock and slid down to sit against the door.

“Are you serious, Swan?” He called through the door. She didn't answer.

“I've no clue what I've done this time, but I'm sorry,” there was a little bit of an edge to his voice, but it was saturated with sadness. 

“Alright, Emma. Call me when you're ready to talk. I cannot believe you’re doing this again.” He sighed dismissively as he walked what she counted to be at least five steps away. The sound of footsteps seemed to solidify a part of her resolve that said feelings were futile; he would have eventually left anyway. It was better this way. The dejected sound of his voice left her feeling bereft. She wanted to scold herself for being petty and cruel. She swore she would never hurt him this way again, but Emma wasn't really good with commitment even to herself.

She pleaded with herself to do better, to be better. She peeked out of the small window by the front door. He seemed frozen where he stood, five steps away from her door. His eyebrows knit together indecisively as he pivoted back and forth between the door and the exit. He threw his head back in exasperation, looking completely anguished.

Be brave, Emma. She steeled herself and recalled one of their jogging trips.

She had tripped over a mossy rock and twisted her ankle as she fell. Trying to mask the pain, she made a move to stand only to collapse right back down. Her ankle throbbed and she couldn't help but curse. 

“Whoa whoa, love, your ankle is hurt. Let me take a look at it.” he offered gently.

“I got it. I can handle it. I'm fine,” she said as she tried to regain momentum to stand up. 

“You are not fine. Just let me look at it,” he said sternly.

“Oh and you’re a doctor now? I said I'm fine. Just let me do it,” she spat. 

He rolled his eyes exasperatedly and sighed. “Try something new, darling. It's called trust.”

She bit her lip, considering his statement before reluctantly nodding. “Yeah, okay….just be careful?”

He inspected the ankle carefully and when he gingerly touched the joint, she winced. “It’s not a sprain, just probably need to rest it. Rest, ice, compression, elevate, you know. A few days and you'll be good as new.” 

“Maybe you are a doctor. How did you know all that?” she asked bewildered.

“You know it may come as a surprise, but in my time in the royal navy, they did teach us basic first aid.” He explained, chuckling to himself. Oh. Duh. “I could also give you CPR, should the need arise.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and she laughed despite herself.

“Wait a minute! What are you doing?” She asked as he removed his jogging shirt (which was really a cut off tee shirt that he insisted kept him cooler). Despite having laughed earlier, the sight of him shirtless made her wonder if maybe she would need that CPR after all.

“I'm going to wrap up your ankle and get you home.” He held the shirt in his hand and used his teeth to rip the shirt apart at the barely there seam. “This is going to sting,” he informed her, wrapping the cloth firmly around her ankle and foot to stabilize the joint. She winced but managed to refrain from calling out in pain. 

When he was done, he helped her stand and supported her on her injured side so she could hobble to the car. He spent the rest of the day taking care of her and making sure she didn't put any weight on the ankle.

She snapped back to the present and smiled. If she could trust him then, she could trust him now.

She turned the deadbolt and swung the door open to find him apprehensively standing there as if ready to knock again. 

“Swan?” He quirked an eyebrow in confusion.

“Who is Tink?” She asked so quickly that the words ran together.

“Tink?” He inquired, perplexed. As realization dawned on him, he chuckled and she tried her very best not to be offended. “Is that what this is about?”

“Well, who is she?” Emma raised her eyebrows, ignoring his inquiry.

“You're cute when you're jealous.” His laughter grew in volume. The laughter had a warm tone to it, it wasn't that he was making fun of her. It was more like he was laughing at a joke she didn't hear. She huffed, frustrated as he took an intentional step forward.

“I'm...uh..I'm not jealous” she attempted to make her tone neutral and nonchalant.

“Tink is an old colleague from when I was working overnights in college. She has always been a flirt and I have never been interested in anything other than friendship with her,” he explained patiently.

“If that's true, then why did you make plans for Tuesday?” She blushed, for someone who wasn't jealous, she definitely sounded jealous. He didn't seem fazed.

“Emma, Tink is a loan officer at the bank. We had a meeting on Tuesday to approve the business loan for the bar I'm opening.” 

Oh. “It got approved?” She asked, stuck between feeling dumb for assuming and feeling elated for his new business opportunity. He had expressed a desire to open his own bar for months, but hadn't updated her on his progress.

“Yes.” He smiled.

“You didn't tell me!” She said launching toward him and playfully hitting his arm.

“I didn't want to ‘jinx' it, as you lot say” he laughed as he used his prosthetic arm as a shield to defend himself from her attacks.

“I'm sorry that I jumped to conclusions,” she offered as she allowed his defensive embrace to morph into a hug.

“I forgive you. Besides, you’re very adorable when you’re pouty and jealous.” He lightly tapped her nose with his finger.

“I wasn't j-!” she started before his words about trust echoed in her mind again. She took a deep breath to steel herself and prepare for a rejection that she didn't feel was coming. 

“I was jealous.” She admitted. “It wasn't right or fair of me to be jealous, but I was.” For his credit, he didn't seem to celebrate Emma admitting she was wrong (despite how infrequently it occurred). He didn't push or prod, but waited patiently for her to finish her statement. “I was jealous, because I think I've come to realize that I don't think of you as just a friend. Or a fuck buddy. Although I do think of you in that way but just not like only that.” She continued to ramble. He placed his hand softly on her shoulder and smiled encouragingly as if to center her.

“What I'm saying is that I want to be more than that. I'm not like a relationship kinda girl. Like I don't really do that. But with you, I would.” She struggled through the last bit of dialogue. “Because I love you.” 

“I know,” he said. She waited for him to finish his reply and he seemed to be searching for the right words.

“Oh. It’s, um...it's okay. We can be friends and it doesn't have to be more. It's not weird. It's okay if you don't feel the same,” she started again, stringing words together so quickly that they began to blur into each other.

“Emma,” he said lowly to cut through the babbling. “Emma, love. Emma, shut up.” That got her attention. He chuckled. “I love you, too.”

It seemed to be their custom that he always took a step toward her, but in a moment of mental fortitude and bravery, Emma stepped toward him. He was impossibly close as she crashed her lips on his and met him with more passion and fervor that she had ever felt in her entire life.

She had never known home, always creating it for herself wherever she went. It was nice and she did well for herself, but it was at the moment that he wrapped his arms tightly around her that she truly understood what home was. 

Home was wherever he was.

**Author's Note:**

> WOW! I'm so excited that I can FINALLY share this with you all! I've worked really hard on this for a really long time, but I haven't worked on it alone. I have so many thank you's. First off, thank you to the CSLB for letting me be a part of your project. I definitely recommend that everyone goes and reads all the fics, because they're wonderful.  
> More thank yous! Thank you SO much to my amazing beta @Spartanguard on tumblr for your guidance and help on this work. You helped shape this into what it is today and I'm so thankful that you joined me on this journey! Also HAAAAVE to thank @cocohook38 for her AMAZINGGGGGG artwork!!! You can view it on her tumblr or on my tumblr!  
> Lastly, I have to thank some wonderful friends for their kindness, encouragement, and all the fun I had during this project. Thank you to my salt-shakers. You know who you are.  
> Hope you all enjoyed it! Let me know what you think!


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